Limits of Power (41 page)

At that moment, he began his song. To his surprise, Arian—below in the circle—sang the responses. The sky lightened, color returned to the trees; he felt the taig's response as well as his own. Relief: he was doing the right thing; all would be well.

Then—as the sun cleared the treetops and the first ray of light struck the Oathstone—the ground shivered. The Oathstone itself sank slowly, finger by finger, into the green grass. Kieri struggled to keep his voice steady. As the Oathstone sank below ground level, leaving a smooth shaft behind, the ground heaved up, then down, as if it were an ocean wave. Kieri staggered as it subsided beneath him, around him and the Oathstone's shaft, spreading as it lowered until he stood below a circular dyke.

The Oathstone, once more almost waist-high, stood in front of him. An old skull, the earth still clinging to it, poised delicately on top, its ancient grin challenging. Though he had not seen the skull in the dark at Midwinter, he knew this was the same one.

Kieri looked around. His court lay scattered in disarray on the dyke; most had fallen as the ground rose, but Arian stood, arms outstretched for balance. He looked at them, then at the skull and the level circle around it. On two sides, sunrising and sunsetting, gaps in the dyke led away into the King's Grove.

He bowed to the skull. “Elder,” he said. “Be at peace.”

Justice
is
worth
more
than
peace.

“True, but you have earned your rest.” He picked up the skull and once more kissed its forehead. “There will be green leaves for you, or a place in the royal ossuary, as you wish.”

My
people
were
here, and here their bones remain, but scattered. Build them a house, O king, and you will have my blessing.

“It shall be done,” Kieri said, laying one hand on the skull and one on the Oathstone. “My word on it.” A song of thanksgiving seemed appropriate; he began the one he knew best, and his court—somewhat raggedly—joined in. As they sang, bones rose from the soil, through the grass, and the grass grew together again beneath them. Soon the ground within the dyke was covered with bones—bones that slid clicking against one another to form assemblages—one skeleton after another.

Kieri felt the hairs standing up all over his body, prickling, but he sang on even as other voices faltered, welcoming the bones back to the light in words he had never heard before. Was it even his voice singing? He was not sure.

Finally all the bones lay still. Their arrangement resembled the layout of the royal ossuary, with aisles between the rows of skeletons. Kieri walked among them. They had been long in the earth, but under the dirt he could see some trace of color here and there, less crude than he had expected.

With a bow to the skull on the Oathstone, he called his court down. “We must find the sacred boughs to lay on them now,” he said. “And build them a bone-house as they once had, that some of the Sinyi—or iynisin, I do not know which—destroyed. For these are the ancient peoples who lived in this holy place before the elves did, and they require honor.”

The Seneschal advised which leaves were best to place and how; Kieri felt the gratitude of the bones as one and then another had eye-holes and earholes touched with green under the sun. Then with a bow to the skull once more, Kieri led the procession back to the palace.

The procession was silent until they were within the palace walls; then Sier Halveric said, “So … the Oathstone is not from the elves?”

“Apparently not,” Kieri said.

“Did you know about this?”

“What happened to me at Midwinter suggested that something lay beneath the mound. I had thought to have it excavated, but with Arian's miscarriage and the Lady's death, I had not done that yet. The Kuakkgani said there was something very old and the answer would come at Midsummer.”

“Were those people murdered?”

“Not all of them, surely. They had a settlement of some sort and a bone-house. I am sure people lived here before elves came, and their sacred place was taken over.”

“By the Lady.”

“I am not sure of that,” Kieri said. “She said no … and we know she had traitors within her company.”

Sier Halveric nodded. “I would like to hold her blameless, sir king, in spite of all we know.”

“So would I, as she was my grandmother. But unless we find proof … what can we think but that she is at least tainted with suspicion?”

Construction of the bone-house began immediately after the end of the Midsummer festivities. Kieri insisted it must be completed by the Autumn Evener, but the simple structure stood ready to receive its guests well before that. The Seneschal spent time with each skeleton, then told Kieri where it should go. The oldest skull, the one Kieri had found at Midwinter, rested on the Oathstone.

“I wonder what other secrets the elves left us,” Sier Davonin said after the dedication of the bone-house. “Patterns that let enemies into the palace, a pretty hill to cover an ugly crime…”

“We are not likely to learn them all,” Kieri said. “And some, I hope, were not so dire.”

Vérella, Tsaia

T
he atmosphere among the peerage at Midsummer Court was less strained, Dorrin thought. She still caught sharp glances from some of the women and a few of the peerage, but Dukes Mahieran and Serrostin were back to being friendly, and Duke Marrakai had never been less. Daryan Serrostin attended Dorrin at court and also visited his family's house. Gwenno Marrakai did the same. Beclan, who could not attend court or meet his family, had been allowed to come to Vérella “for his safety” but stayed in Verrakai House. He did not complain and set himself to study the estate rolls Dorrin had brought along and write up her notes from the meetings every evening.

“We have a situation,” High Marshal Seklis said to Dorrin on the second day. “The king and I must speak to you privily.”

Dorrin sighed. She suspected there would always be a situation where she was concerned. “At the king's pleasure,” she said. She was not surprised when, at the conclusion of the morning session of Council, the king nodded to her and Seklis. She followed him away from the other peers and the table set out with food and drink.

“First—as you know already—Prince Camwyn has shown mage ability,” Seklis said when they and Marshal-Judicar Oktar were closeted in his office. Mikeli had waved Dorrin to a chair, but himself wandered the office restlessly. “He is not the only one.” Dorrin looked at the king, who was staring out a window. “I had … um … not told the king,” Seklis went on, “that I first heard of someone outside the royal family having magery near the Spring Evener. Marshal-Judicar Oktar and I considered it a matter of Girdish law and sent word to the Marshal-General, as you told him to do, quite correctly.”

“If I had known,” Mikeli said, still looking out the window, “I would have spoken with Seklis at once about Camwyn. It was … unfortunate.” His voice was quiet, but Dorrin realized it masked anger.

“I agree,” Marshal-Judicar Oktar said. “I was wrong to instruct Seklis to withhold that information. We wished to have the Marshal-General's opinion to give the king the best advice, but still—”

“Well.” Mikeli turned back to them, meeting Dorrin's gaze. “So it was done, and so I found when I told Seklis about Camwyn's magery. Go on, Seklis.” He turned away again.

“The Marshal-General has convened a special conclave to consider the issue, to which I am bidden,” Seklis went on, looking at Dorrin. “She informs us that magery has appeared in Fintha, as well as in Tsaia. In children as young as five winters, though most are over twelve, and a few adults, all bred of families with no record of it.”

“Where?” Dorrin asked. “In cities or—”

“Scattered across the land, including Fin Panir itself. In remote villages where—unfortunately—some were killed out of hand by zealous Marshals. The Marshal-General has ordered no more killings, but there is … unrest … in some areas.”

Dorrin repressed a shudder. A crisis in the succession of Tsaia—even in the Crown itself—was nothing to the chaos that could result from the entire Fellowship of Gird losing its cohesion.

“In the meantime,” Seklis said, “she bade me inform the Marshals under my eye that they are to report any signs of magery to Oktar, but take no action. She forbade killing suspected mages here, as well as in Fintha. She would like Prince Camwyn to come to Fin Panir with me—”

“And I forbade that,” Mikeli said, without turning to face them. “I have but one brother, and he is dear to me. Let him be as wrong in the Code as he is, and I will still protect him.”

“How many know about him?” Dorrin asked.

“We and Aris Marrakai,” Mikeli said. “For a wonder, given their ages, they have not said aught to anyone else, and a combination of physical exertion and the daily exercise of his power in secrecy has kept it from displaying publicly. So far.”

“Has the Marshal-General any idea why magery is suddenly appearing?” Dorrin asked.

“Several, and none proven,” Seklis said. “The Marshals and paladins she has called to study this may find out.”

“The dragon destroyed Achrya before Midwinter,” Dorrin said. “And is that not when gnomes came to Lord Arcolin? Could it be connected?”

“
Anything
could be connected,” Mikeli said. “Kieri—King Kieri—used to say everything was. But we do not know, and without knowing we cannot act—”

“Good deeds as well as bad have consequences,” Dorrin said. “It may not be a threat.”

Mikeli finally looked away and sat down abruptly in the remaining chair.

Seklis cleared his throat. “There is more, Duke Verrakai. When we returned from the king's progress, messages from the Marshal-General also told us of elves come to Fin Panir. Did you know that magelords were in some sort of enchantment in the far west, in that stronghold discovered a few years ago?”

Dorrin frowned. “Paksenarrion said something about that, one night up at the stronghold. I don't remember any details.”

“Well, there
are
magelords—clearly magelords from the ancient days—in both the records of the place and by the look of them. They're just … there. Silent, motionless, unresponsive. The elves now demand that all humans leave—the Girdish and the magelords both. The Marshal-General has ordered the Girdish expeditions home, but has no idea how to remove the magelords—they cannot, it seems, be picked up and carried off. The elves claim they cannot remove them, either, but insist they must be removed. It will take a magelord, they told the Marshal-General, to break the spell that binds them.”

Dorrin's brows went up. “They cannot mean for
me
to do it!”

“The elves did not know of you,” Seklis said. “The Marshal-General, however, did. She regrets that she mentioned you to them. I was told to ask if you had any idea how. Despite the outbreak of magery here and there, you are the only adult trained magelord we know of. I certainly have no skills in breaking enchantments.”

“Prayers to Gird?” Dorrin suggested. “The High Lord?”

“Will be tried, of course. The Marshal-General sent a paladin by the mage-road to Kolobia for that reason. We have not heard back, which suggests that so far the gods have not granted it.”

“Do you even know what kind of enchantment it is?” She thought of the reading she had done in the Verrakai library: nothing suggested a way to hold someone enchanted for all those lifetimes.

“No. But if the elves say it is not theirs—”

“If they are telling the truth,” Dorrin said.

“You would doubt them?”

“Kieri's grandmother, the Lady,” Dorrin said. “She was not always truthful. Elves love harmony, as you know, and will avoid conflict if they can. Including by subterfuge.”

“Do you then think it is an elven enchantment?”

“I don't know,” Dorrin said. “I have not seen the enchantment … I have not seen
any
enchantment of that kind. It is like a bard's song or a fireside tale … and the only tales I heard spoke of enchantment from eating something enchanted.”

“I have spoken to witnesses who have seen the stronghold and its contents,” Seklis said, “so I know the enchantment is real. Do you think you'd recognize the magery used if you went there?”

“Went to Kolobia? I doubt it. And anyway, I can't go.” She glanced at Mikeli. “Not without your command, sir king, and with the messages from Arcolin on the situation in the south, I should stay in Tsaia.”

“I agree,” Mikeli said. “Unless you thought you could quickly deal with the enchantment and return. We also want to know whether you can open the box that shut itself when Paksenarrion was here.”

“I don't know,” Dorrin said. “I can try—if you truly want me to.”